Here is today’s Weapon of Warrior Wisdom.
The Weapon of Warrior Wisdom image is linked to another page with more Weapons, a larger view, and more explanation.
The starting bid is $100.
Bidding on these Weapons of Warrior Wisdom Art pieces will run till midnight, Tues, Dec 14.
Send me an email telling me what you would like to bid. I will follow up with bidders throughout the day with updates.
Your Founding Father of Life Intensity,
“The Greatest Good to the Greatest Number will obviously be reached when each individual of the greatest number is doing the greatest good to himself.”
“Individualism has the strength to resist all attacks.”
Rose Wilder Lane
The health care situation is interesting. I’ve a few thoughts…
The vigorous opposition to more government in our lives is a good thing. Several intelligent, limited-government voices not pulling any punches are getting through, connecting and being heard. The genuine instances of this are inspiring.
About the rest, I have to to be honest, I find it all disingenuous and none of it inspiring. More…
This is horrible. Just tragic. Hard to believe. The whole city is emotionally devastated. It will take a long, long time for the community’s mourning to end. One witness to the evil crime said, “Just makes you really think about what is truly valuable.”
The mall reopens for holiday shopping tomorrow.
Apparently, if you aren’t on or can’t be found on the internet, you might not be doing well. According to expert wrestling fans with no other interests and too much wasted time on their fingers poking at their keyboards or their many other “mind-dumbing” techno gadgets, you may even be self-destructing. Even when your absence and silence is otherwise generating NO perverse gossip, police reports or obituaries, you are still pestered by kooks and goofs and nutjobs believing your lack of presence on the internet means something must obviously be wrong in your life.
It seems that many believe it is no longer reasonable that a man can live a productive, fulfilling and happy life if he does not engage the infinite void of cyberspace. No, not today, not in these 21st century times of now, now, now and more, more, more. It’s simply impossible today that a man can devote his time to enjoying his own life, his own thoughts and his own company or the lives, friendship and interaction of his own family without others thinking he must be wasting his time and wasting away physically, mentally and spiritually while he’s at it.
Of course, I am accustomed to disappointing people. So it is that I can only report that all is over-the-top well here in Warriorland. Healthy, happy, alive — you know, the same ol’ traditional and exciting routine. Plenty of smiles and silliness — and serious attitude about using life, not squandering it. Things couldn’t be more beautiful than they are. And, no, let me reassure you, my time away from your cheers, high praise and ass-kissing has NOT lowered my self-confidence or testosterone levels one single bit. In fact, I’ve always been rather self-sufficient in that regard, as you know if you’ve been coming around over the years. My huge, healthy, vigorous and potent ego is still large and loud; maybe even more so after this good rest I’ve had away from the nothingness of the internet. Scratch your monitor and you can even smell it. If you rub it real hard with a stiff scrub brush you can even forgo those cheap smelling pine tree and peppermint holiday candles everyone uses to aromatize the air. Tell others it’s your gift to them, that you’re letting them have a whiff of the real thing, the Warrior thing.
Anyway, I was chopping some wood today to burn in the 8 fireplaces we have in our humble, little Warrior abode and all of sudden I became overwhelmed by a huge rush of emotion. I was thinking about how great my life was and how sad it is that so many waste theirs on the internet trying to desperately figure out the lives of others, or worse, trying to figure out who they themselves are and what their own lives are all about to begin with. Then I almost fell into tears thinking about that recent Teddy Bear/ Mohammed incident. Just tragic how it turned out the way it did. Really scary. Sure, I agree the lady should be killed, but for insulting the good, decent and reverent name of Teddy Bear, not Mohammed. I mean, is the World mad or what? *
A dozen cords of lumber into my manly task it hit me that I needed to be more thankful and show my appreciation more often than I have been, no matter the serious risk I could potentially be subjecting myself to by engaging the lifelessness and emptiness of the internet again. So since many of you have been jones-ing for a good bit of time, and even many more of you can’t make up your own minds about important things without knowing what is on my mind first (I know my absence has been the hardest on those of you who can’t think for yourselves), it hit me that that for the sake of humanity, and many’s sanity, I reckon I can make a little time here during the holidays to enliven your existences. After all, it is the season for jolly spirits and Always Believing, right? God, I am such a sucker for the less fortunate in body, mind and soul. I should really consider starting a church of some kind. Sometimes I really do think I missed my calling.
Ah, it’s going to be a great Christmas season. Isn’t it? I can already tell it is. In fact, I’ve noticed that the hair on back is already unusually thick here at the beginning of December. It usually never begins to mat-up before the middle of January, and the texture…unbelievably soft, more like Mink this year, not Raccoon as in years before. There’s so much of it I am almost positive that after shaving off what is necessary to make coats for my girls, my wife may even get that fur coat she’s been dreaming of.
Must be that steroid study I’ve been conducting on myself since July. I was in the Carolinas just after the Benoit incident, you know. And I stumbled across that huge extra stash of steroids he had stockpiled. Yeah, weirdly enough, I found them at one those indian souvenir shops, sitting right next to a bunch of firecrackers. The indian running the joint said one day a big black semi-truck with huge scrawled white letters all down the side of the trailer (he couldn’t make out the word or the letters because he went to a local American public school where they were only taught Cherokee) came through town on its way to a larger city and stopped out front and opened the rear doors up and the whole 53′ truck was full. He said the driver, a skinny, nervous, super-jittery guy, was practically giving the stuff away.
He didn’t know what the stuff was but he bought it all because on the reservations they can sell anything legally and he figured eventually some white man would come through and know what it all was, buy it and he’d make a huge profit. Well, I knew what it was, but he also knew who I was. And, naturally, he was more impressed by who I was than I was by what he had. He also believed we had this whole cosmic “You’re a warrior, I’m a warrior…” connection thing going on. And he was so into it I just didn’t have it in me to disappoint him and tell him we really didn’t have a connection thing going on because Ultimate Warrior, as a persona, was never created around his being an indian in the classic cowboys and indians sense. The truth is, I side with the cowboys not the indians, and I consider myself a Native American in the accurate sense. Moreover, I don’t really appreciate that the indians, the bow and arrow kind, use the term in the misleading way that they for too long have. I mean, I was born here, in America, so I, too, am a Native American. I don’t have to say my ancestors lived in a teepee and wore feathers in their hair, or yelp like a hyena or weave blankets or burn smudge sticks and smoke tax-free cigarettes to know I am one. Neither do you if you were born here. But we’ll save that politically-incorrect discussion for another time. So, anyway, I went along with the roleplaying he was doing and used his belief to my advantage and negotiated with him until he took a pair of my underwear that I agreed to draw my Ultimate Warrior logo on, which he knew would always thereafter hold special powers. Funny, huh? Be back a little later to discuss my experiment — and many other things.
Your Founding Father of Ring Intensity,
*(Neither has my wonderful, sarcastic, politically-incorrect sense of humor suffered in any way. It is still very much in intact.)
There’s a great quip told that when someone wants to act stupid, get out of their way and let them. This general notion, I submit, needs to be extended to cover other acts. Considering there has been much concern expressed that Paris may be putting her own mortality in jeopardy, I say, if someone wants to kill themselves, let’s do the same thing we’d do when someone comes around wanting to act stupid — get the hell out of their way and let them. In the case of Paris Hilton, or any other slobberish, sleazy, starlet (or star), I, for one, just don’t give a damn. If you ask me what I think — and thousands that I don’t have the time to individually respond to do — I think it’s much better to have the ruinously run lives rotting underground rather than having them run loose ruining the lives of the many above it. I know, I know. You’d never say it — but you knew I would. You’re welcome.
Years ago, long before Paris Hilton, conceived by disinterested sperm and egg donors too regal and haughty to ever be caretaking parents themselves (so raised by nannies), blossomed into the cheap, self-centered scofflaw and squealing tramp she is today, I discovered a great, powerful book in a bedside drawer one night while staying, weirdly enough it seems to me now, in an eponymously named Hilton Hotel, the Hotel empire her Great-Grandfather founded and built. Since Paris is going to have some free, uninterrupted time on her hands over the next couple of weeks (in between ingesting all the psychiatric drugs she needs to sustain her insanity), she might want to read it. I really doubt that she ever has.
No, I don’t mean the ubiquitous Bible you can find in nearly every hotel room. I mean “Be My Guest,” written by Conrad Hilton, her Great-Grandfather. If she took the time to turn its pages (and, yes, phonetically slur her way through pages, of course) she’d discover just what kind of timid, third-rate adventurer and wanton, fallen angel she truly is. She’d also discover, perhaps shamefully so, what hard work, perseverance and integrity her remarkable Great-Grandfather invested of himself to not only succeed at building the Hilton empire, which she and her siblings and other relatives now parasitically revel in, but what life principles he observed and honed to truly become a man who lived a full, powerful and grand life that came to be admired by people from all over the World (see book link and PDF Biography file attached).
Unfortunately, Paris Hilton was destined to become the ungrateful, snobbish, pretentious, pouty-lipped skank she has become. Her Dad — one half of the atrocious parent couple she was spawned to — got his lessons of ingratitude from his own father, Barron Hilton, one of Conrad’s sons. When Conrad passed away, still competently running the company at 91 years of age before he suddenly died of natural causes, Barron disagreed with his old man’s will-ed wishes to leave each sibling only $250,000 and most of the rest to the Roman Catholic Church. So after they laid Conrad to rest, eulogizing, I suspect, what a great and worthy father and man he was, Barron went to pissing all over his old man’s fresh grave as he got busy contesting his final, dying wishes. Mind you, never publicly contesting his father’s saneness or the fact that his Dad was the one that built the empire and that it was his wealth and money to do with what he damn well pleased.
No, he went and hired some shameless lawyers (likely at his dead Dad’s expense) who were semantically well-versed in the kind of stylish, obfuscating language that works real well when performing the fantastic storytelling demanded by fabricated legal briefs, the kind of language and stories that his own tough, upstanding father never put up with and many times punched right back into the smart-assed mouths of the same kind of litigious smart-asses. Decently raised to know that blood is thicker than water, Barron figured he’d one-up his Dad and take mentoring to the next level by teaching future generations of Hiltons that huge stacks of cash, piled greedily one atop another, are even thicker than blood. Of course, it’s always easier to make your court case when the defendant is dead. Then again, what do any of us plebeians know? Hundreds of millions of dollars might just be enough to cover the ransom your conscience forever demands once you hang this kind of covetous guilt around your own neck. Seems to work pretty well today for some of our most notable celebrities, including politicians.
It’s interesting to pay serious attention here to the deterioration parallels. They aren’t a coincidence. The character of the Hilton name has fallen in disgrace at the same pace and level as America’s, and most Americans, cultural integrity. Less than 100 years ago it was pride in the job one provided and the quality of principle the individual practiced that created and stood for success. Now it’s how pathetically low your behavior can go and how many paparazzi will jeopardize their own life and limb to sychophantically follow you around photographing your vulgar acts one after the other. All of the latter, mind you, now financed by the former.
Even those you might expect to stand up for regard of the law are, in the way they are handling the coverage of this, confessing their own ignorance and two-faced deceit. Many presumably knowledgeable pundits (including conservative Fox News personalities) have said, “Paris isn’t being treated fairly, she’s definitely getting a raw deal.”
Like hell she is. What and Who are getting a raw deal are our laws and the law-abiding citizens of this country. Laws are not unfair or fair. The law is simply THE LAW. It just IS. What the law is, is what the law is. Plain and simple. Laws are not (supposed) to be subject to relativity. Once they are, they are no longer laws. We can, again, thank the deteriorated culture and its relativity that this “anarchy” is becoming more and more the case. Using previous instances of leniency shown to other celebrity lawbreakers, some even committing more serious crimes, is not the gauge to use to determine appropriate punishment for Paris. The punishments already on the books are! Just as it was in every other lenient punishment enforcement instance before now. Unfortunately, in those previous instances no one was paying attention to it as so many are now because of the frenzied media debate going on. The leniency that was applied wrongly before is not what anyone should being use, now, to judge what is fair or unfair for Paris. Instead of once again using popularity, feelings and program ratings to rationalize continued leniency, what should be done is that an end is put to any more tolerance of it once and for all. Once punishment for breaking the law is determined by popularity, celebrity status and money, those who don’t have these things, yet have the decency and discipline to abide by the laws, are the very ones being treated unfairly and getting the raw deal.
If Paris Hilton is the prostitute now finding herself being made the example, so be it. We all come to make the beds we lie in. She’s made hers, too. And you can bet it’s not the filthiest one she’s ever been handcuffed to. Give me a break. She’s an absolute tramp. Her $1000 an ounce perfumes can’t begin to conceal her slutty stench.
Who knows, maybe she will become better for having the experience. She admits she “used to act dumb,” says she is through with it — isn’t going to act dumb anymore. She also says, “God has given me this new chance,” and that she’s “much more spiritual” and her “spirit and soul did not like the way I was being seen.” She’s even said she “might build Paris Hilton playhouses, where sick children might come, and the toy companies could donate toys.” Of course, I’m not holding my breath. And, since this all began, I haven’t lost one minute of sleep. One thing for sure. After saying these dumb things in the same interview she informs us she’s no longer going to act dumb, it’s obvious she means that she intends to drop the dumb act after she gets out of jail, not before.
Your Founding Father of Ring Intensity,